


So That's What That Feels Like

by lymans (emblems)



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Nothing explicit, aka the time where my otp got together, gets a little raunchy, post season two finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emblems/pseuds/lymans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>[...] he moves forward, until he's standing just behind her, and he wonders if she's been tuning everything out or just hasn't decided to turn around until now.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>But she does, and suddenly they're eye-to-eye, alone, and he wishes he remembered how to breathe. </i></p><p> </p><p>This time, Don is the one initiating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So That's What That Feels Like

By some mutual, unspoken agreement they reach when they're on opposite sides of the room, separated by the entire senior staff and news desks and champagne and everything else, they pull away together.

She's waiting up on the terrace, arms crossed on the railing while she overlooks the city. He takes a moment to stand there in silence, just to watch her there, watch her hair move in the wind, take in the goosebumps on her legs, the way her legs end in those goddamn heels--

And then he decides he ought to stop watching because otherwise he'll be in a situation he'd like to save for another occasion (maybe later that night, but he won't count on anything, because he'll do whatever she wants to do and that is all he needs, really). So he moves forward, until he's standing just behind her, and he wonders if she's been tuning everything out or just hasn't decided to turn around until now.

But she does, and suddenly they're eye-to-eye, alone, and he wishes he remembered how to breathe. 

"So Will and Mac--"

And suddenly Don remembers why he's up here, and it certainly isn't to talk about the upcoming office nuptials (as pleased as he is about that because maybe there will finally be a release of sexual tension in the newsroom and wouldn't _that_ be a nice change--)

So instead of letting her finish that sentence and start a conversation he honestly has no interest in, he reaches out to grip her waist and pulls her in.

It has the desired effect: she goes quiet immediately, and looks up at him with those big brown eyes.

And she waits.

He decides he wants to take this moment slowly, because she already took care of the "fuck-everything-I'm-going-to-do-this-hard-and-fast-right-this-instant" moment earlier that evening.

He wants this to be "fuck-everything-we've-waited-too-damn-long-not-to-make-this-count."

Not that she hadn't made it count earlier, it was just… well, he'd been caught by surprise and he liked to think he could do better when properly prepared.

And he appreciates that she's waiting, now. She knows she already made a move, and now it's his turn. Sloan stopped waiting around--and thank god she did--but he has to do this now, because otherwise she's calling all the shots, and she knows that just won't work.

Don is self-aware enough to acknowledge she could run the tables with him and he would never say anything in protest, would let her walk all over him and be _happy_ about it, but instead she's making sure they're on equal footing.

Because that's what they are: equals.

The conclusion resounds in his mind like a bell, light and pure and clean. 

A weight that's been on his shoulders suddenly ebbs away; he doesn't remember the last time exhaling felt so good.

Feeling a thousand pounds lighter, he lifts one hand to her face, so his thumb rests on her cheekbone.

And still, she waits. He can see it in her eyes, though, and in the smile she's trying but not quite managing to subdue : 

 _C'mon, Keefer. You're right there_.

And then he tugs, and he leans in, and his lips land on hers and--

_Jesus Christ in heaven--_

Why on earth had he waited so long?

Where the first kiss had been hard, meant to shock and awe, and dominant on one side, this one was far more even. He pushed, she pushed. When he moved a hand to the small of her bag and pulled her as close as physically possible, she moved her own to the back of his neck (and really, it's quite unfair she managed to find such a sensitive spot of his so soon).

When she pulls his lower lip between her teeth, he can't stop the moan that escapes his throat. He hears Sloan's low chuckle and he feels the sound go from his ears and _straight_ down.

In the interest of evening the scales, he pulls away so he can fix his mouth to the corner of her jaw, just underneath her ear. The little gasp, combined with the way both of her hands jump to grip his hair, does nothing to help his physical situation, but damn if it doesn't feel good to know he can do this to her, that he can get right to the core of her and make her come undone underneath him.

He'd forgotten how good this could feel: sincere, healthy physical intimacy. 

Already, he knows that he's going to have an issue not wanting this _all the time_.

He's moving back to her lips when her hand presses on his shoulder. "Wait," she says, and her struggle for oxygen is audible, "just--" 

She takes a few seconds to breathe, her eyes locked on his. She's looking for something there, he realizes.

"I can't believe this," she finally says, running a hand through the hair near his temple. 

"Says the one that kissed me in the control room in the middle of the election night broadcast," he says, laughter lurking underneath every word.

"I did, didn't I?"

"You did," he says. "It was incredibly hot."

"Distracting?" she asks.

Now he does laugh, and he pulls her back to him, so they're pressed together. He knows she can feel him--every part of him. 

"You tell me," he says.

He has to admit he hadn't expected her to push her hips into his, so she rubs over that spot _just enough_ to make him squeeze his eyes shut and groan. "You can't do that again," he says after opening his eyes.

"Or what?" she challenges.

"Or else we're going to end up having sex on this terrace and somehow I think there are laws against something like that."

"Is that the only thing stopping you?" she asks. 

"It's really fucking cold out," he replies. "I have no shame in admitting I'd prefer a bed to cold concrete."

She smiles, and his stomach does something weird.

"Fair point."

He misses her the second she pulls away. Before she can begin to walk to the door and back into the building, he takes her hand in his and links their fingers.

And, fuck it all, maybe they're all getting sued tomorrow, maybe he's getting sued tomorrow--Don couldn't give less of a shit at that moment.

No longer is he _waiting_ , no longer is he _stationary_ , just waiting for the world to dole out whatever bullshit it feels like hurling at him next. He's not trying to atone for some sin he's always felt guilty for.

He's fucking _happy_.

**Author's Note:**

> Written almost right after the season finale aired. Written because I have a deep-rooted belief that these two are equals (despite all their insecurities and Sloan's IQ and Don technically being her superior).
> 
> So yeah. I posted it on my tumblr (museumheists, in case you're wondering. ;D) way back when and decided it should be put up here.


End file.
